Sunset
by White Crow
Summary: Ron says goodbye...


A/N: It's the first time I wrote this kind of fic... so before you read, I'd have to explain myself a bit. The Ron talking here is from Harry's imagination. Because they have been friends for so long, Ron has been a part of himself, hence the Ron here. Anyway, this is dedicated to the wonderful, wonderful meamcat...  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Sunset  
  
The wind blew carelessly as the few trees swayed to its accord. The grass covering the hard earth lay green and dewy from the rain that fell not so long ago. In the middle of the wide, open field, a tall beech tree stood proudly in isolation while two men sat under its shade.  
  
They talked to themselves, oblivious to a number of people walking around them, whispering in mournful tones. The atmosphere was of a solemn one. No laughter could be heard and no smile could be seen. The two didn't seem to notice.  
  
"How's life been, Harry?" Ron asked as a gust of wind passed, making his vivid red hair fly in all directions.  
  
Harry shrugged. "Still the same; you know how an auror's life goes. Hunting and catching crooks, running after almost every bad guy in the planet," he said. "And oh yeah, Quidditch." He added as an afterthought.  
  
"Right, Quidditch. The noble sport," answered Ron while pulling strands of wet grass from the ground. "I just can't get enough of Quidditch. Could you?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "You'd be a nutter to hate it."  
  
Ron laughed. "Hermione hates it but she's no nutter… Well, maybe a little bit."  
  
Harry smiled as he thought of Hermione and her beloved S.P.E.W.   
  
"Think she'd give up spew after this?" Ron asked as though reading Harry's mind.  
  
"Maybe." Harry answered truthfully. "She won't be able to concentrate."   
  
Ron smiled at him. "Are you going to give up Quidditch after this?"  
  
Harry did not answer.   
  
They stayed quiet for some time, watching the people milling around.  
  
"Life's tiring, isn't it?" Ron asked, determined to start another conversation.  
  
"It surely is," Harry agreed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Sometimes, you wish it would stop even for just a minute."  
  
"Yeah. Life's been rough on you, never had a piece of the quiet life, I reckon. With Voldemort and death eaters to deal with."  
  
"Yeah well,"  
  
"And remember all those dementors and basilisks and every other foul creature you've had to face in Hogwarts? Bet that wasn't easy,"  
  
Harry nodded in assent. "It wasn't. But you were with me then."  
  
Ron grinned. "I was. Hermione, too."  
  
"Hermione, of course,"  
  
Ron sighed deeply. "You're brave, Harry. You've always been."  
  
Harry snorted. "I'm not so sure about that."  
  
"Give up the act, Harry. I know that you know that you're brave," Ron punched his arm slightly.  
  
"Whatever," Harry joked, throwing a few blades of grass at Ron.   
  
They continued to laugh for quite a bit and only when Harry said he couldn't breathe anymore did they stop.   
  
Ron was still smiling widely, his freckles in plain view. He inhaled deeply and looked up at the sunny sky. "I'll miss the sun, you know,"  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Harry looked up and found Hermione standing a few feet away. She was wearing a black veil, obscuring her face from view.  
  
"They've come." She said simply.  
  
Harry stood up and brushed some grass off his suit and walked over to Hermione. She held out her hand, which he took and held firmly.  
  
They walked towards a part of the clearing where the people who previously moved around formed a small group. They stood with them and waited. They could hear a few sobs and sniffs while some people anxiously craned their necks, obviously trying to see…  
  
The sobs grew louder.  
  
They have come.   
  
Harry looked over the heads of the people and sure enough, they were there. The small group parted, leaving a clear path for these people to pass.   
  
Four men, carrying a blue casket.  
  
They walked slowly to where Harry and Hermione were standing and it seemed to take them forever before they finally passed the two.  
  
Hermione hugged Harry tightly, fresh tears pouring down her face.  
  
Harry mechanically put his arms around Hermione, his eyes on the casket.  
  
He caught a glimpse of the see-through glass and saw, not to his surprise, Ron's peacefully sleeping face.   
  
The men continued to move forward, finally coming to a stop in front of a portion of freshly dug earth.   
  
The people around them made their way nearer the casket. But neither Harry nor Hermione moved from where they stood.  
  
They started to lower the casket.  
  
Hermione clung to Harry tighter than ever, determinedly closing her eyes, not wanting to see what was happening, not wanting to believe it was real.  
  
Harry continued to watch the men, who after lowering the casket, began to cover it with soil. He felt as though time had stopped.  
  
The sun began to set, casting them in a sad gloom. Birds flew overhead. Many people in the crowd now didn't even bother to stifle their cries. Their anguish broke the stony silence.  
  
Soil continued to conceal the coffin. It was two feet high, three, four… Until it erased any indication that a friend was buried underneath, covered by dirt and sadness.  
  
Time began to tick once again, this time moving steadily faster, sweeping before them, that before long, Harry and Hermione were the only ones left.   
  
The crowd has gone. The noise has gone. But their grief stayed to haunt the two friends.  
  
Hermione was no longer crying, but she still had her arms around Harry, not finding the strength to carry her own weight. Harry stood firm, not quite believing everything.  
  
How could they leave Ron there all by himself? How could they pile filthy soil on him and just go away? Ron never left their side, so they wouldn't leave his.  
  
Night has come, shrouding them in total darkness.  
  
Harry looked back at the beech tree where Ron once was. Its shadow seemed to envelop them in a woeful embrace.  
  
Ron would miss the sun.  
  
Harry felt a tear trickle down his cheek.  
  
A/N: I was crying when I wrote this... the plot came to me when I woke up from a nap this afternoon. The line "Ron would miss the sun" just popped up and I decided to make a story. I like Ron, really. I never wanted him dead. But sometimes, wanting someone isn't enough to keep them near.  
  
Sorry for being so dramatic. Do you want me to kill off anothr character or would you rather have me shut up and never write again? R&R!!! 


End file.
